The Face of Death
by SiriuslyGeorgia
Summary: What was going through Lily Potter's head on the 31st of October 1981? When Voldemort burst through their door, was her first thought for her husband or for her newborn baby? Where did they go after the fatal curses? Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K.**

When I hear James' exclamation, I freeze. If he's here, which James says he is, I know it's the end. There's no way me and James will be able to face off the darkest wizard of all time without our wands, whilst trying to protect Harry.

Harry.

The thought of our son jolts me into movement. Everything's a blur, but I can feel the weight my little baby boy in my arms as I hold him tight. Vaguely, I hear James shouting at me to run. Run? Run where? James, tell me where!

"I'll hold him off!"

No, not alone you won't. My mind clears slightly; enough for me to realise there's no way I'm letting James do this alone, defenceless. I follow him out of the room, which holds so many happy memories, and into the hallway, where Lord Voldemort now stands, a sinister, twisted smile on his face. In slow motion, his eyes flick from James to me and settle on Harry as my baby gurgles, oblivious to the mass-murderer stood barely a metre away. I don't quite recognise a single emotion in Voldemort's expression – hunger, hatred, disgust, expectation all rolled into one.

The last look I see on my husband's face is panic as he notices me standing beside him. The last time he touches me is to desperately push me away. Then he straightens as turns his back on me and faces Voldemort.

My calf catches on the corner of the wooden stair behind me and I nearly topple over. Instead, I turn automatically, clutching Harry tighter with each step as I rocket up the stairs. My feet hit the landing and I bolt into Harry's room, slam the door behind me and lean against the wood, breathing heavily. It's only now I realise what a stupid idea it was to run upstairs, and not out of the back door, but I can't change my decision now, and I couldn't have left James behind. Stroking Harry's soft tuft of black hair, I whisper soothing words despite my shaky voice.

"We'll be okay. You'll be okay. Everything will be fine."

Whether these words are meant for me, my baby or my valiant husband, I don't know.

Thump.

I didn't hear the inevitable curse that came before, but I hear the father of my child fall to the floor as clear as day. A disjointed scream escapes my lips, and I almost break. For the briefest of milliseconds, I consider giving up and handing myself over - Voldemort's just taken half of my entire family. Now, though, Harry giggles, perhaps thinking James is merely playing peekaboo, or has tripped over his own feet again. My resolve instantly strengthens, but it still takes all my effort to push myself off the door.

I hear Voldemort leisurely making his way up the stairs and I hate him even more for the game he is making of ending our lives.

Around the room, boxes are piled up; ones I know will never be fully unpacked. Clutching Harry close with one arm, I use the other to hastily shove boxes against the door. By Harry's crib is the chair me or James, sometimes both of us, sat almost continuously during the first few months of our baby's life, just in case. That joins the boxes against in the makeshift attempt to safeguard our lives.

He's at the top of the stairs now. I wrap both arms around Harry like a safety blanket. Voldemort forces the door open slightly – easily – to push his wand through the crack and my eyes are glued to that stick of wood as one simple movement causes the barricade to make way for our deaths.

I find myself staring at Voldemort's cold face, and don't want my son to do the same. I place him in the crib behind me, regretting my decision as soon as his warmth is replaced by ice cold remorse. In an attempt to shield Harry from the sight of Voldemort, I hold my arms wide.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" I beg. Part of me feels dirty for pleading to this bastard, but I'll do whatever it takes. Voldemort's mouth frames a reply, but it doesn't register in my mind.

Attempting to straighten my back as I saw James do minutes ago, I stand my ground. "Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-"

Voldemort looks at me curiously, as if I'm a strange new species. He's telling me, I think, to stand aside; to stand aside and let my baby die instead of me. This man cannot be human.

"Not Harry!" I shout, anything to not have to witness the death of my bundle of joy. "Please… have mercy… have mercy… Not Harry! Not Harry! Please-I'll do anything-"

Something shifts in my opponents face, and I think that maybe, just maybe, he'll turn and walk away. Maybe I'll live, and bring Harry up to know what an amazing sacrifice his father made for him, for us.

Instead, he points his wand right at my heart. This time, I hear the killing curse loud and clear as it proclaims my death.

* * *

I don't know where I am. It's dark. It's cold. It's silent. I'm standing. My heart is pounding. My cheeks are wet. I'm dead.

A hand grasps mine. I scream. I'm pulled into a familiar embrace and I sag with relief.

Even though my surroundings are unforgivably black, I recognise the hug. "James." I breathe, burying my neck into his shoulder.

"I thought – maybe…" James' voice cracks with regret.

"There's no way we could've survived that," I tell him firmly. "Even with our wands, we'd still be dead."

As we cling to each-other, James begins cursing under his breath. I only catch one word: "Wormtail…"

I gasp. Because Voldemort found us, it means only one thing. "He's working with them!"

James touches his forehead to mine. "Ten years of friendship. I can't believe he could betray us like this. They must be torturing him – he wouldn't tell them anything otherwise."

I disagree with James, but I let him rant until he falls silent because it doesn't really matter what we think anymore.

"Where's Harry?" I manage to ask the question on my mind, even though it shatters me to think of my baby … dead.

"Maybe…" James starts, hopefully. I shake my head slowly, but James can't see me. "Maybe he survived."

I take a deep breath. "He couldn't have done. Voldemort was right in front of us. He would've… stepped over me to get to Harry."

Dropping to my knees, I sweep my hands desperately over the cold, smooth floor. I hear James do the same.

"He's – he's not here." James says.

"What if he's somewhere else?" I sob.

James finds me on the floor and coaxes me to stand up. Shakily, I get to my feet, supported by my husband.

"He can't be." James reassures me. "If he was… you know… he'd have come here – with his parents."

"So what do we do?" I ask, tears slipping down my face at the thought of spending eternity here in this cold, dark hell.

"I guess we have to move on." James whispers uncertainly, squeezing me to him.

At James' words, a bright white pinprick of light appears in the distance, as if a light has been switched on. I feel more terrified than I did in the pure darkness.

"That way, then." James takes my hand and starts to lead me in the direction of the light, but I don't move a muscle. "Lily?"

"We can't go," I argue, "not without Harry."

James takes my face in his hands. A few strands of his unruly hair block the light just right so I can finally see a tiny part of him. "He's alive Lily, I know it. We have to go on. Maybe there's some way we can protect him from over there. If by some miracle Harry has survived, I want to see it. We can't do anything waiting here for him. I don't know, but what if our parents are waiting? Our friends who have already been killed? What if they're perfecting an undead army to take down Voldemort? We might just make it, if we hurry."

I didn't think it was possible in this place, but James manages to coax a laugh from me. Feeble though it was, the laugh gives me the strength to put one foot in front of another. James and I walk with conjoined hands towards the tiny bead of hope.

* * *

**A/N: Written in honour of Halloween, the 32****nd**** anniversary of the death of my, and probably your, OTP. Favourite, subscribe, review!**


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